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October 16
I broke an oarlock. African dust is flying overhead. I am sitting in
clothes that drip with salt-water. I should not write today. I should
not write because, "Laugh and the world laughs with you, weep and you weep
alone." Whine and you are just a bore. Sorry, I'm stuck in my cabin again
and I can think of nothing better to do.
It was a beautiful morning. At dawn it was raining, I slept in. I've
traveled far enough that sunrise for me is at about 8:30 GMT. Eight thirty
brought with it a tremendous downpour. It was not the usual drizzle. I
waited for it to pass. A 9:00 AM I climbed through the main hatch and out
into a light mist of rain. A large black cumulonimbus cloud was overhead
but had almost cleared my position. Hazy stratus clouds were all that came
behind the craggy thunderclapper that was dumping its load of moisture.
The wind was light (10-15 knots) and the swells were almost non-existent (4-6
feet). My first hour of rowing was the best I've had in weeks. My heart
soared. I thought I'd get a solid twelve hours of rowing in today for
sure. By 10:00 the wind increased to 15-20k. By 11:00 it was 20-25k.
Dane Clark, a meteorologist friend, told me to expect "moderate trade winds" for
the next few days. Whether it is pleasant for me or not, these are "moderate
trade winds." Dane reported seeing "African dust" in the satellite
imagery. It occurred to me that the hazy clouds I took to be light brown
stratus clouds might in fact be the African dust Dane observed.
I thought about this for a long time. This dust will accumulate water as
it crosses the ocean. As the dust cloud gathers moisture it may be carried
high and become cirrus clouds, or altocumulus. Perhaps in a few weeks a
large black cumulonimbus cloud will deposit some of this African dust over
a Kansas corn field. For a moment, I wanted to be that dust. I wanted to
catch a cloud and take a short cut home.
By 12:00 PM the wind was almost 30 knots and the seas were building with
each increase in the wind. Now 15-20 foot swells with breaking tops were
becoming common. At 13:00 GMT I knew it was too rough and that I should
retire. But, I DID THAT YESTERDAY! My mind rebelled. The rudder had been
a bother all morning. It is rather over sensitive. Try as I might I was
not able to get it set in a neutral position. The wind was out of the
east, but the rudder either pushed the boat northwest or southwest.
Normally this is not such a big deal; I like quartering the wind. However,
with breaking seas while the boat went southwest I took water over the port
side getting the right side of my body wet (remember I face the stern or
back side of the boat), and when the boat went northwest I took water over
the starboard side drenching the left side of my body. My fussing with the
rudder only seemed to insure that both sides of my body became equally wet.
At 1:30 there were gusts to 40 knots and a good wind between 30 and 35
knots showed no signs of abating. A noisy wave approached. I watched it
climb high above my stern, tall and steep as a cliff face. The stern lifted.
The wave broke. I
pushed my hands down as far as they would go to try and clear the oars
above the maelstrom. A cap of turbulent foam caught both oars. I was
able to free my starboard oar, but the port oar lifted me out of my seat.
A searing pain in
my right shoulder demanded that I release the oar. Free of my grip the oar
blade moved swiftly toward the bow of the boat. The oarlock caught it and
strained heroically to retain the oar. The wave forced the blade of the
oar under the boat and the groaning oarlock popped its gate. The oar
jumped free of all restraint.
This seemed to happen in slow motion. Sensing the inevitable, I lunged for
the oarhandle with both hands catching it just before it was sucked under
the boat. For a split second I worried the oar would drag me out of the
boat, but I felt my harness line pull tight. It took agonizing seconds for
me to turn the oar into a position where I could free it. I thought of a
veterinarian trying to turn a breach birth horse. It was not easy, but I
saved the oar. I hauled it aboard and lashed it to the deck. I noticed
that my tether line had wrapped itself around my oarmaster. This is why it
caught me before I was pulled out of the boat. My tether is about eight
feet long. It is not intended to keep me "in" the boat so much as "with"
the boat. If my tether was any shorter and the boat turned upside down, I
could be trapped under the boat. I never go on deck without my harness and
tether. I am a good swimmer, but if I fell over board in a wind like this
without something connecting me to the boat, I would never be able to swim
fast enough to catch the boat. In short, I'd be a dead woman.
I pulled in the starboard oar and lashed it on deck with the port oar. I
have a spare oarlock in the bow compartment, but it is far too rough to
make the necessary repairs. I am now back in the cabin. I am wet. The
cabin is hot and the air is damp. I vacillate between feeling just a
little sorry for myself and feeling annoyed about having left the Canary
Islands so early in the season.
For the last week or so I've been stuck in that "no-rower's land." Is it
dangerous? Honestly, no. It is what Gerard d'Aboville might describe as
"uncomfortable." Yes, that's it. I am uncomfortable, and I can expect to
be uncomfortable for much of this journey. I will think about something
else.
That dust cloud is amazing. It is not so absurd, wanting to soar with the
clouds. I am little more than lucid dust. How many billions of humans
existed before me? Some of their atoms may be in that cloud. Who am I to
complain about my situation? I have food and shelter and clothing. There
are now six billion living breathing human beings on this plant. I'd say
I'm in a better position than 95% of them.
In closing allow me to quote a true Southern Lady, Scarlett O'Hara. "After all,
tomorrow is another day."
October 17
It took over an hour to repair my broken oarlock. At home, the job might
have required ten minutes and that's only if I had to search for the tools.
After removing three small wrenches from my little tool kit, I took the
precaution of tying a length of cord to each wrench that I in turn tied to
my life vest. I've lost my share of tools in rivers and lakes while making
repairs to boats.
The last time I took the precaution of tying my tools to my life vest was
during a severe flood in Kentucky. I went with a friend, Mark Hamilton,
to attempt to save the Louisville Rowing Club's boathouse on Harrod's
Creek. I designed this boathouse and the building is constructed in such a
way that it floats during times of high water. During this particular
flood the water got so high that the boathouse floated off the top of the
telephone poles meant to keep it in place. After a few difficulties Mark
and I managed to cross tie the boathouse among several very tall trees.
Remembering the difficulties of that day, my broken oarlock seemed a
manageable task even though the water is little different than it was
yesterday.
One of the hardest parts was climbing into the bow compartment to find my
spare oarlock. The water is bumpy and the bow hatch is small. It took no
less than fifteen minutes to pull my "repair" bag from the front of the
boat. To get to it I had to remove several other containers including my
"Abandon Ship Bag." This bag stays on top for obvious reasons. I hope
never to see the inside of this bag unless I am on shore. Inside the
Abandon Ship Bag is an immersion suit, a hand pump watermaker, flares,
strobe lights and other emergency gear. Once I freed the repair bag,
finding the oarlock took little time.
I thought I should video the repairs to the oarlock and put some effort
into mounting the camera where it could take in the scene. No sooner did I
have the camera in place and was ready to begin work on the oarlock when a
rhinoceros of a wave butted the camera off its mounting. The video camera
tumbled into the ocean. Fortunately for me (as this is not my camera) I
had a bit of cord tied to the handle. I reeled the camera back into the
boat, but noticed a little water had penetrated its waterproof casing. I
dried the camera quickly and put it away.
Back to the oarlock, I had to remove the top nut and backstay. This was
simple enough. The backstay is a solid piece of stainless steel held in
place by two 5/16 bolts. The oarlock itself is made of very strong
plastic mounted on a stainless steel "pin" that allows it to pivot. The
pin was not damaged in yesterday's mishap so all that was necessary was to
slide the new oarlock down onto the steel pin. This done, I replaced the
backstay and was back in business. What made this task a chore was that to
do it I had to sit close to the broken oarlock. This put my body weight
well off to the port side of the boat and the boat listed heavily to that
side. Over the course of my efforts many waves ended in my lap.
By 9:30 GMT repairs were complete and I was ready to row. I rowed all day.
There were a few minutes of rain from time to time, but no real downpours
today. As it has for some time, the rowing felt like pick and shovel work..
It was slow going, rolling through the swells. This makes for a
discouraging workday.
Dinner was very good. I had some rice and mushroom pilaf.
As I write this, the sun is setting. It is bright orange with iridescent
clouds all around. No doubt there is a fair amount of African dust
enhancing the splendor.
Soon I will be off to bed.1,2,3. Good night.
October 18
It has been a good day. There has been no rain. The wind and waves are
much the same as they have been, but I am beginning to become more
accustomed to them. Also my mood is improving, as today I will reach the
halfway point between Tenerife and Guadeloupe. As I write this, it is
dinnertime. I am about ten nautical miles short of what I consider to be
halfway. I will keep rowing until I reach it. IF IT TAKES ME ALL NIGHT.
I remember last summer that the few weeks before I reached the halfway
point were psychologically very difficult. The closer I got to the halfway
point the harder I pushed and the more the ocean seemed to resist my
efforts. The same has been true for me on this trip. I've been grumpy.
On the afternoons when I've been unable to row, I've been very poor company
for myself. There are not many ways to vent frustration out here. It is
not as if I can get out and talk a walk.
I think my spirits will rise with the passage of this milestone. While I
still have a very long way to row, the shorter distance to land is ahead of
me and no longer behind. Guadeloupe is a bit farther than Barbados, but my
technical support team is French and landing on a French Island will make
the logistics a little easier. There is much for them to do. It is
unlikely that I will arrive on a perfect course to row the boat into a safe
harbor under my own steam.
Perhaps the most hazardous part of the journey is the approach to land at
the end. I will want to row straight for land once I see it, but this
would be a mistake. The Atlantic side of most Caribbean Islands is rocky
and the surf is far too rough to make a safe landing in a rowboat. So, I
must row around the Island to the leeward side (out of the prevailing
winds). If there is any kind of current moving away from the Island on the
backside, I may need assistance to land. Once I pass the front side of the
Island, the row will technically be complete and my friends could give me a
tow into a safe harbor.
Only if conditions are absolutely ideal, a fair wind, favorable tides or
currents and agreeable weather will I be able row into a harbor without
help. So my technical team must 1) guess when I will arrive, 2) guess
where I will arrive, 3) arrange for a boat or several boats that could tow
this vessel, 4) they must try to anticipate what I will want from them when
we meet, and most difficult of all 5) they must find this little boat in
this big ocean before I find myself in a hazardous situation near land.
Doing all of this without causing an international incident is almost as
difficult as rowing solo across an ocean. All this says nothing of
arranging for planes and hotels at the height of tourist season.
Another benefit of Guadeloupe over Barbados is that by staying north I may
evade a little of the bad weather that seems to be tracking just to the
south of me. As I have said before, I am in no hurry to tangle with large
low-pressure systems.
I guess I should put my mind back into the task
just in front of me. I look forward to a celebration later today or early
tomorrow.
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